


It's All Fine

by in_oblivion



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst and Feels, Dead Sherlock, Family Feels, Gen, Post-Reichenbach, Reincarnation, Supernatural Elements, What Have I Done, twin flames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 18:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11720139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_oblivion/pseuds/in_oblivion
Summary: “Reincarnations like this don’t often happen. Actually-“ The middle aged medium named Henry began. “The only explanation I can think of is that your love for your friend was so profound, it manifested itself in the birth of your daughter.”





	It's All Fine

 

Rosie’s first word was ‘John’.

It was a terribly bittersweet victory. But the doctor tried to remind himself that it wasn’t unheard of for babies to call their parents by name. But then again, it wasn’t too common either.

Rosie had no qualms with calling Mary ‘Mommy’ or ‘Mum.’ Bless Mary, she did try to remind Rosie. Started to call him ‘Dad’ or ‘Daddy’ every chance she got. There was never any change.

John tried to not let it bother him.

 

But John did become bothered when Rosie started to put together sentences and their connotations left him with a building sense of dread.

“How’s brother?”

“No, love. I have a sister, not a brother.” 

Rosie stared at him and John could have sworn he saw an expression of annoyance there.

“Mine. My brother.”

John laughed but it was an uneasy, forced kind of noise.

“You don’t have a brother, Rosie.”

There was that look again; but now it seemed sad and far too old to belong on a two-year old’s face.

“Oh.”

Rosie went back to playing with her toy cars and John had to stop himself from poking the metaphorical bear.

 

Rosie had just barely turned three when Mary approached him in a rage and stuffed a pile of their daughter’s drawings in his hand.

“Why in God’s name would you tell her those stories, John?! _She’s three!”_

The doctor had to physically stop himself from vomiting as he looked through Rosie’s drawings. There were some of Bakerstreet, his cases with Sherlock, what John assumed was a family portrait of Sherlock’s family – and Sherlock’s death. There were drawings of his best friend’s  _dead bloodied body._

_“I didn’t.”_ It took everything in him to get the words out without, indeed vomiting.

Mary didn’t believe him.

 

John took the initiative to sit down and talk to his daughter about the drawings; not that he actually thought he would like the answer.

“How did you know to draw those things, Rosie?” Because he hadn’t told her and unless Sherlock was haunting their flat and disguising himself as his daughter’s imaginary friend – which he really wouldn’t put past the man, honestly – These are things that were impossible for Rosie to know of.

“You don’t remember?” And, no; John wasn’t liking the sound of this at all.

John shook his head while trying not bite a hole through his cheek.

“There were lots before.” Rosie began in a long babble. “I was Anna and then Barry, David, Valerie…There was a war and lots of people got sick.” His daughter frowned as if trying to remember something. “I tried to help but I died too.”

Christ. _No_. There was no bloody way –

“But I died lots of times.” She looked at him in that confused way again like he should know what she was talking about and it was with an absolutely sickening realization that he _did_.

“There was a bad man that made me jump- “

John did have to make a mad dash to the loo that time to empty the entirety of his stomach.

 

He tried to tell Mary and she just gave him a suffering look.

“John-“ It was the tone of voice you used if you were attempting to let someone down in the easiest way possible. “You’ve been on edge lately; overworked. I know it’s nice to imagine-“

“It’s _nice_ to imagine Sherlock Holmes in the body of my daughter?!” John hissed back.

The doctor realized he had said ‘my’ and not ‘our’ and it had been just enough in that moment to earn him a night alone while Mary and Rosie stayed at Janine’s.

When the two returned the next morning, Mary looked white as a sheet and Rosie was dragging in a violin twice her size through the entrance way.

 

Rosie had just started primary school and it seemed all memories regarding her past lives had been long forgotten. She had taken to calling him ‘Dad’ and wasn’t aware there was a time she hadn’t. Of course, John remembered; Mary remembered. The two would talk about it sometimes in the privacy of their bedroom.

“It’s a miracle, John. Let’s leave it at that.” His wife would say, and John would never argue the point further.

Rosie never stopped playing the violin.

 

The issue had in John’s mind, been put to rest. Rosie was getting ready to enter secondary school and was an exceptionally bright child. Their daughter had taken a love of the arts; languages, music, poetry. Rosie’s teachers had joked he and Mary should make the enrollments to Royal Academy now.

 

It was then one summer night that John had been woken up by movement in Rosie’s bedroom. Mary worked as an ER nurse and tonight was one of her night shifts. So, it was Dad to the rescue.

The sight John found made him wish Mary were here.

The doctor found his daughter lining the windowsill with a mixture with what looked to be diluted salt with purified water. She was muttering something in an unknown language under her breath.

John hated to say the sight scared the hell out of him.

“Rosie?” No answer.

_Christ_. Please don’t let this turn into a bloody horror movie, John silently pleaded.

His daughter finished up whatever it was she was doing a few moments after his entrance and when she finally turned to face him, her eyes held something solemn and far too wise.

It was the same look he saw when she had babbled on about her past lives as an infant.

 

“What are you doing?” John asked cautiously.

“Salt purifies the home and derails any unwelcome and malicious spirits.”

Just that one sentence made John’s heart jump into his throat. He really should have seen something like this coming in all honesty.

“And there are…Malicious spirits here?” It took all the energy left in him to keep the conversation going.

His daughter seemed…Jaded. And John swore if he looked hard enough, he could see glimpses of her past lives; _glimpses of his best friend._

“They stick around me, mostly.” Rosie replied far too casually for John’s liking. “They don’t like that I know so much.”

John said nothing but when Mary got home, they both began searching the internet for mediums.

 

“This is mad.” John muttered under his breath as the family waited for the psychic they had hired to arrive.

“No madder than anything else, John.” Mary retorted quietly just as there was a knock at the door and the psychic named Emma introduced herself.

“I’d like to talk to Rosie alone, if you all don’t mind.”

John did in fact, actually mind; but Mary simply gave the woman a curt nod and nearly had to drag him off into another room.

He and Mary were called back in about twenty minutes later.

 

“I’d like to try something. It’s not something I usual recommend for children - but I think it’s important you understand -“ Emma gave them both a serious look. “Your child is gifted; far beyond the normal psychic spectrum. She has been getting information and advice from her own spiritual guides but unless I try to get her to remember more of her past lives, she may be vulnerable to dark or even demonic attacks.”

John could feel Mary grip his arm like a vise but she was still the one to reply.

“What does this all entail?”

The black-haired woman gave a small, reassuring smile over to Rosie before beginning to explain.

“It’s called past life regression. It works somewhat like hypnosis. I’ll take Rosie into a trance like state where she’ll be able to open the door to her Akashic records and get the information she needs to.”

“And the-” John choked out. “Risks involved?”

“Not many.” Emma admitted. “I only say it’s something mediums don’t usually attempt on children because it’s an intensely emotional experience.” Another look. “It’s also not guaranteed what lives they will remember and how much.”

“So what you’re saying is-“ John began with a hard swallow. “There is a chance Rosie may only remember one past life.”

_“John.”_ Mary hissed under her breath. “Stop making this about you.”

Something dropped in John’s stomach and the parents agreed to the treatment.

 

Rosie’s anguished cries echoed off the walls of their quaint two bedroom flat and John didn’t think it could get any worse, he couldn’t even imagine-

_‘Moriarty shot himself.’_

_‘He didn’t give me a choice.’_

_‘If I didn’t die, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and John would have all been gunned down.’_

With heavy sobs racking his entire body, John left the flat and didn’t come back for two days.

 

“I think it’d be best if we separate for a while.” Mary’s words somehow didn’t come as any surprise. Her features were nothing short of devastated. “I can’t do this with you, John. I realize that this is a complicated situation-“ She shook her head, not even trying to find the words.

“Get yourself together. Maybe do some spiritual healing of your own. But please-” Mary locked eyes with him and she was crying. “Don’t come back until you can see Rosie as our daughter and not your dead best friend.”

The words stung horribly, but they were what John needed to hear.

 

John did end up going to see another medium; it was almost like therapy. Telling someone how fucked up his life was and getting a slice of whatever ‘professional advice’ they had to offer.

It wasn’t the advice John had been expecting.

“Reincarnations like this don’t often happen. Actually-“ The middle aged medium named Henry began. “The only explanation I can think of is that your love for your friend was so profound, it manifested itself in the birth of your daughter.”

And well, when the man said it like that, John sounded like a right prick for how he had been acting.

“It most likely wouldn’t have been an issue.” Henry started again. “But your daughter was born a medium and a magical essence is something that is specific to a soul. It’s a gift that soul has throughout every lifetime.”

“Wait-“ John’s thought processes halted for a moment. “Are you telling me that Sherlock was a _medium_?”

“A medium or psychic to some degree, yes.”

John took a deep breath before asking;

“Is this something you choose? Which body you’re incarnated to?”

The smile Henry gave him was a solemn one. “Would you think any less of your friend if he _had_ chosen this?”

No, John instantly realized. He wouldn’t. It was also with a sickening realization that John knew if the tables were turned, he probably wouldn’t hesitate to do the same damn thing.

 

“You know…” The balding man continued on as if he had read John’s mind. _Maybe he had._ “It is actually common for twin flames to gravitate towards each other once they are nearing the end of their reincarnation cycle.”

_Twin flames…”_ You mean soul mates?” Because John really didn’t want to open that can of worms just yet; or _ever._

“In essence, yes.” Henry put up a hand before John could interrupt and damn it all, maybe the git could read minds. “And before you ask, twin flames do not necessarily have to be romantic in nature. Some of the most divine bonds are made of completely platonic relations.”

 

It took several long minutes for all of that to sink into John’s headspace. That Sherlock might have been his soul mate and it could have been his own damn mourning for the man that brought his soul into the body of his daughter.

“I wouldn’t analyze it too terribly much, John.” _Yes, the man could definitely read minds._ “Remember, our bodies are just vessels for our enduring karma. It’s the soul that will reside above all else.”

The doctor didn’t know why, but somehow that last statement struck a serious chord with John.

It would be six more sessions and three more weeks of tearing his mind from the inside out before John returned home.

 

Mary was slightly surprised to see him back so soon but welcomed him in regardless. John had taken the initiative to come home while Rosie was still at school so the two could talk.

And they did talk. Probably talked more than they had in their past year of marriage. When John was finally finished explaining what Henry had told her, Mary’s reaction was not nearly what he had expected it to be.

“That’s beautiful.” Mary whispered with tears clouding her eyes. “You know that, right? John, it’s like something out of a fairy tale.”

And it was, John realized. He was just sorry he couldn’t have seen it sooner.

 

Rosie was, for more or less, the same. She did however, have all memories of her time as Sherlock Holmes returned.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know, Dad.” She side-eyed him from her place at the dining room table. “You’re the one that ran off for a month.”

John pulled up a chair.

“It was really hard for at me at first, you know?” He ran his hands through his hair. “I felt like I was constantly walking on eggshells and at the same time-“ The doctor let out a defeated sigh. “At the same time, my best mate is inhabiting my kids body and it was all A Bit Not Good there for a while.”

A bark of laughter left Rosie’s lips and somehow it made John smile.

“Past tense.” She finally commented back.

“Pardon?”

“You say it in past tense.” A curious glance. “Does that mean we’re okay?”

The doctor’s smile only seemed to brighten further.

“Yeah. It’s fine.” A beat. _“It’s all fine.”_  

Rosie snickered knowingly and said nothing as she got back to her homework. John would later hear a sonata of Requiem for a Dream playing from her bedroom.

 

Things became infinitely easier. The Watson’s were a family – dysfunctional as hell – but a family, nonetheless.

Rosie was just Rosie. If the girl caused her violin screech like a dying cat when her parents said something remotely disagreeable or made inside jokes with her father that no one would ever understand – she was still just Rosie.

 

It wouldn’t be The Royal Academy but Brunel. Surprisingly enough, neither art nor music was one of Rosie’s majors.

_“Lovely hobbies but miserable careers.”_ Was all Rosie had offered as an explanation.

John didn’t question her explanation and obviously didn’t need to as his daughter would end up graduating at the top of her class with a Masters in Journalism and go on to travel abroad in a variety of foreign countries. It was there that she met a very nice photographer on her ventures by the name of Alex.

Although John would end up giving Alex hell, the man still got his blessing to marry his daughter.

 

It was a lovely wedding in the countryside with few guests. John walked her down the isle and there would be several blank stares from the crowd at yet another private joke that no one but the Watsons would ever understand.

But that was fine. It was all fine.

 

They stayed in London and Rosie kept her maiden name. Alex took a job as a crime scene photographer for Scotland Yard and his wife always took to yelling at him for everything he was doing wrong.

It wouldn’t fail to make John cackle every time he saw the interaction.

 

Three years into their marriage, Rosie gave birth to twins. A beautiful boy and girl she named Gregory and Nora.

“I can’t believe it.” John eventually muttered out when the father and daughter had time to themselves. “I can’t believe you finally remembered his name.”

“Whose name?” Rosie looked honestly confused.

“Greg? _Greg Lestrade?_ Scotland Yard?”

“You mean Gavin?” Rosie looked honestly appalled. “The name Gregory was Alex’s idea, Dad. I picked Nora.”

_“Oh, my God.”_ John moaned into his hands.

Rosie would proceed to squint her eyes, shrug, and go on to be the best bloody mother John had ever seen, not counting her own of course.

 

John Watson was seventy-four years old when his old age caught up in the form of heart disease. Mary had died only four years previously in a bad fall.

Rosie would be at his bedside as the last breaths left his body.

“I think I get it, you know?” John admitted.

“Having some grand ‘purpose of life’ epiphany, are we?” Rosie snorted through her tears.

“Yeah, actually!” John grinned like he was not in fact on his deathbed. Because he wasn’t; not really. “I think it was always supposed to be this way, in one form or another.” At the look of confusion on his daughter’s face, John continued. “You were so brilliant as a detective –  you still are of course; always miles ahead of me-“ They both smiled at that. “But I don’t think I would have ever gotten to see you have a family and everything you do now.”

“I have that because you.” Rosie admitted tearfully. “Because you raised me to be so extraordinary.” The woman took a deep breath. “You know, I think I’d take being a Watson over being a Holmes any day.”

John Watson died with a smile on his face.

And Rosie was sad, yes. But not anywhere near devastated. Because she knew she and John would find their way back to each other.

They always did.

 

 

 

 


End file.
